Meeting at the Crossroads
by element78
Summary: There's a black rock marking an unnamed grave, in the heart of Britain, where an ancient tower once stood tall.


Someday, I will write Cheerful Happy Fic With Cheerful Happy Ending, goddammit, not angst-riddled death and/or sex fic with a lukewarm ending. Someday. This is not that day.

Major, major character death, although the movie started it. I just… carried on. Because sometimes you don't get a Hollywood ending.

* * *

Britain, they say, is an old land, its history written in blood and conquest. It's easy to forget that this little island has seen everything from Neanderthals to Romans when one is walking down the streets of modern-day London.

Dave doesn't care much for London. It's a personal thing, one he can't really explain since he doesn't truly understand it himself. Which is perfectly acceptable, really, since he's nowhere near London now. He's in the hinterlands, somewhere south of Edinburgh and west of Newcastle. The line between England and Scotland is nearby but it doesn't really matter- all that's out here is mile upon mile of rolling green land. Out here, it's easy to feel the history, easy to get lost and just drift through time. This is an ageless land.

He needs that feeling.

Time doesn't rewrite itself, not even for the Prime Merlinian, so there's nothing there when he reaches his destination. Any sorcerer can feel the power, so rich and deep, steeped into the earth, but the tower that once marked this wellspring is centuries gone. He inhales, smelling grass and rain and something like honeysuckle. Then he turns to the right and counts off his steps as he walks- he can never find it on the first try, never got the proper feel for it. He's not here often enough, much as it pains him to admit it.

They'd built a cairn, like in the olden days, and sunk it into the ground so it wouldn't be disturbed by tourists. The only marker is one flat black rock lying in the grass. Sitting on top of it is a peridot ring. Dave doesn't doubt that the ring has 'walked off' several times, but it always finds its way back here within short order. Sorcerers don't much care for thieves.

He finds it after a few minutes of aimless wandering and stands awkwardly before it. He'd known Balthazar Blake for a grand total of four days, three hours, and seventeen minutes- he'd counted once. And in that window, Balthazar had rewritten Dave's life. Geek, sure, socially clumsy and graceless and far too smart for his own good. Also, Prime Merlinian and hero.

_You did it,_ he'd said, the first time he found himself out here. _You found me, Morgana was defeated, Veronica was freed. Everything you wanted, you got. Too bad you never asked to live long enough to enjoy any of it._

He'd stopped talking to empty air after his third visit. He'd stopped bothering to come at all after the fifth. There's nothing out here, he told himself. Talking to the mirror accomplishes as much as talking to the dead, minus the inconvenience of transport. He hadn't known Balthazar well- the ancient sorcerer had doled out information about himself reluctantly. Dave had had to fight for every scrap Balthazar had grudgingly thrown him. They'd been allies, mostly, and friends very briefly, and then Morgana killed Balthazar and that was that.

He doesn't know why he's here. He has nothing new to say. _Sorry- _not his fault. _It should have been me_- Balthazar probably would have disagreed. Loudly. He has no news Balthazar would have been interested in- he assumes, since again, he knows little enough about the man. Perhaps there's comfort to be found here that can be found nowhere else. Perhaps he simply likes the quiet, and Balthazar's grave is just the excuse he uses.

After a while he turns around and walks away, simply wandering. There's nothing ahead of him, but in truth there was very little behind him. Whatever Balthazar once was, he was gone now. Dave was on his own.

* * *

Losing Balthazar had been a devastating one-two punch. First had been the simple gut reaction of fear- Dave had just tagged himself as Prime Merlinian, Defeater of Morgana, the wunderkind who was skilled in the highly selective arenas of plasma bolts and beating all-powerful evil sorceresses, and the man who had promised to protect him and teach him was dead. He felt not unlike he'd just wrapped himself up with strings of filet mignon like Christmas tree lights and waded into a pack of wolves.

And then he'd looked up and seen Veronica.

Balthazar had suffered through more than a thousand years of fighting and searching because of hope. There was light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how long that tunnel might be, and he had pushed ever forward in the hopes of reaching it. For Veronica, there was no light. If Dave had been shaken by Balthazar's death, Veronica was destroyed. Her reason for fighting, her reason for living, was gone. She was a woman lost in time and her anchor had just been torn away. She had nothing left.

After a few awkward days, during which Veronica had precious little to say to anyone, she abruptly picked up where Balthazar left off in terms of Dave's training. He had too much to learn, and he was her only tie to her lost love. They both came at it rather half-heartedly but stuck to it, Dave out of obligation and Veronica out of sheer determination. Becky, fortunately, was understanding- she hadn't known Balthazar well, but she could clearly see the impact he'd made.

Three years, it took, before Veronica decided Dave had learned everything she had to teach him. Anything else he needed to know was in the Incantus. They parted ways in England, not far from Balthazar's grave. Dave doesn't know where Veronica went. She had never been his friend, not the way Balthazar had. He hadn't known her, before, but he could clearly see that a large part of her had died that day. A promise to Merlin was all she'd had left, and she fulfilled it.

* * *

Dave finds himself a hilltop with a view and settles down, arms wrapped around his knees. It's going on autumn and the English countryside is a fair sight lovelier than New York City. Maybe in a month he'll head up to Vermont- there's nothing in the world quite like those trees turning colors, and no better way to see it than from mid-air. Meanwhile, he'll stay here long as he likes- Becky's not exactly thrilled with him right now, not since he botched his third go-round with meeting her parents for the first time. Sooner or later he'll get it right, though it had better be sooner. He doesn't know how many times Becky will tolerate his using memory spells on her parents to erase entire evenings, even the ones that really, _really_ don't go well.

He's lonely. He freely admits that. In a city of eight million people it's a jarring sensation. Out here it feels right.

"I guess you know a thing or two about being lonely, huh?" Dave asks, startling himself. He laughs shakily and derisively- there's nothing out here, still, and there are no such thing as ghosts.

Right. Just like there's no such thing as magic.

He stands up quickly and doesn't-run back to the grave. He doesn't know what he's expecting- a soft glow from a yellow-green stone, perhaps- but he can't shake the disappointment when he gets there and nothing has changed.

* * *

The world went on, after Balthazar's death. It was probably the worst betrayal of them all, for it had seemed like it balanced on Balthazar's shoulders during its lazy wanderings. Certainly Balthazar had felt so- you didn't need to know the man for long to see how much responsibility he carried.

Somehow Dave had expected- something. Some hint that something had changed. The world was a little darker, a little dimmer. A true hero had departed the land of the living and left it a little less noble for his passing. Balthazar Blake had been a good man and it should have mattered that he was gone.

He had also been a living ghost. Perhaps once he would have been grieved as though he were a king, back before magic was anathema. But he had spent too long lurking in the shadows, had done far too good a job of making himself disappear. He had been a non-entity and had left no mark on the world either in life or in death.

The sorcerer community mourned the idea of Balthazar. He had been a paragon of good, an ideal to uphold. He had been somewhat more than a person to them. Most of them had never met him. The few who had largely wished they hadn't- they had set him up to be one half-step shy of a god, of Merlin. There was nowhere for him to go but downhill from there.

Ironically, the same problem plagues Dave now, and now he sees how he should have treasured Balthazar's off-hand dismissal of all he is. To every sorcerer out there, he is Merlin reborn, practically a god in human form. To Balthazar, he had been an annoying, mouthy apprentice who was good only for getting himself into trouble.

Veronica had been wearing the necklace when last he saw her. It helps, to know someone else is grieving for the man, not the image he represented.

* * *

He wakes up when it starts raining on him.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but the dark cast to the sky- more than just the clouds- tells him it's been at least a few hours. He could easily send the clouds away, save for the displacement effect- the rain has to go somewhere. Instead he stands up and stretches the kinks out of his spine and long limbs.

There are easier ways to get around than a giant steel eagle borrowed from a skyscraper. Dave knows now that Balthazar had had an irrepressible flair for the dramatic. In children's terms, he had been a show-off, and had offered no apologies for it. The thought still makes Dave smile.

His heart feels lighter, now, and ultimately that's why he came. There's a peace to be found here and nowhere else.

* * *

Three days later and he's back home, mostly over the cold he got because he's an idiot who thinks it's a good idea to stand around in the rain, and ready to take on meeting Becky's parents. Again. He ought to consider himself lucky, really. Most guys don't get a reset button. On the other hand, he's pushed his luck to the brink with his. Becky won't tolerate him using magic on her parents again.

The restaurant is quietly busy, bustling with waiters and customers. It's upscale, a bit outside of Dave's price range- he's currently unemployed, so his price range is pretty much limited to Burger King- but it's Impress the Parents Day, Round Four, and he's going to get it right this time if it kills him. Although clearly disaster number three can't be pinned purely on him- how was he possibly to know a Morganian would risk attacking in a crowded restaurant?

Her parents play this game where they show up twenty minutes late. Dave knows it by now and doesn't fidget or twitch or crane his head around to look every time the door opens. And when the parents do finally appear, he greets them as Dave Stutler, Prime Merlinian, not Dave Stutler, nerd. He smiles and nods and manages to avoid saying 'nice to see you again' like he had the second time. He's not what they envisioned for Becky. By now, he doesn't care.

Her mother does lift an eyebrow as he shakes her hand, noting the rings- the dragon on his index finger, the peridot on his middle finger. He has more, but only those two will never come off.

He misses Balthazar. He always will. But there is life after loss, and Balthazar would have wanted him to live it to the full. Four days is all it took for Dave to have his life turned around and everything he could ever ask for be given to him.

And he plans to stick around to enjoy it.

* * *

A/N: No, seriously, people. You come up with Cheerful Happy Fic ideas, let me know. If I like it I'll see if I can twist it around and make it all angst-like and whatnot.

I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
